


Strike Team Pond (the lost in time remix)

by purple_cube



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:33:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1560020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy and Rory find themselves on SHIELD's radar not once, but twice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strike Team Pond (the lost in time remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Mrs and Mr Pond](https://archiveofourown.org/works/702653) by [TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel/pseuds/TardisIsTheOnlyWayToTravel). 



> Contains mild spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier (amongst older MCU movies). I owe a huge thank you to Shallowness for the beta.

 

**2012**

“We could do with some help tying up loose ends following the New York attack,” Agent Coulson tells them on the way to the private airfield. “Although Thor has told us what he knows about the Chitauri, we want to be thorough and explore all potential leads on alien races and technology that may have found their way to this planet. One of our sister agencies told us to get in touch with the two of you.”

“So, we would be consultants?” Amy muses out loud, looking for confirmation. “And we can come home whenever we want?”

“Absolutely.”

“Do we get to have cool superhero nicknames like them?” she says, pointing in the direction of the car behind. The car that they know carries Tony Stark for sure, though Rory has yet to work out who the other man is. He definitely doesn’t have the physique of Captain America, and doesn’t look like he would be an archer. And Amy’s desktop background of the blonde-haired, armour-clad one, taken from a good distance away, rules him out too.

“You’re not superheroes,” Coulson points out. “And those names – Iron Man, The Hulk – they were chosen by the media, not SHIELD.”

Rory lets out a bark of laughter. “That’s _The Hulk_ back there?”

He doesn’t miss Coulson’s cringe. “Dr. Banner prefers to call his alter-ego _the Other Guy_. And yes, it is him.”

“But even the ones who aren’t superheroes have nicknames,” Amy continues regardless. “The redhead and Robin Hood, what where they called –“

“Strike Team Delta,” Rory interrupts with a click of his fingers. “That’s what the tabloids here named them.”

Coulson huffs, more in amusement than disapproval. “That was Hawkeye. He got sick of the rest of them hogging the limelight and decided to leak a few lines about himself and Black Widow to the media. Nothing that would compromise their covers, obviously, but with all the media attention after New York, they both had to scale back a little, anyway.”

“Well, we could be a strike team, too,” Amy suggests eagerly. “If you’re insisting on the Greek alphabet, how about Strike Team Pi? The P stands for Pond, obviously.”

“No,” is the short but firm answer.

“It’s Williams,” Rory responds with a rehearsed sigh. “Even your passport says so, finally.”

She shrugs. “For boring, normal stuff…sure. We can be the Williamses. But for the super exciting, out-of-this-world stuff,” she says with wide eyes and a finger pointing towards Coulson, “we are definitely the Ponds. Actually, forget Pi. I want to be Strike Team Pond.”

“You can’t be Strike Team Pond,” Coulson states, earning a glare from Amy and a smug grin from Rory. “You can’t be a strike team, period. You will have the same clearance as Level 1 agents until you can prove yourselves both in training exercises and in the field. And you will only be engaging in basic field training to begin with, since your role is expected to be reconnaissance and dissemination only.”

“Fine,” Amy huffs. “But just so you know, we have a habit of _engaging_ in the field even when we don’t intend to. So, we should all probably take the training bit seriously, since the odds are that we’ll be putting it to good use soon enough.”

*

Amy manages to refrain from giving Coulson an _I told you so_ look when they return from their first mission, but it’s a close call. Regardless, he arranges for them both to be subjected to a more intensive training regime.

Which is how Rory ends up flat on his back with his head trapped between the knees of one Agent Romanoff.

“Your wife wouldn’t be too impressed if she walked in now,” she observes with a wry smile.

“With me, or with you?” he manages to choke out.

Natasha thinks about it for a moment. “Both, probably.”

And with that, she rises fluidly to her feet.

Rory laughs – as best as he can while he tries to get his breath back. “Scared of her?”

Agent Romanoff’s lips twist just a touch, as if she’s trying to hold back a grin. “A little,” she concedes. “People in love are…unpredictable. Dangerous.”

“Doesn’t that include me?”

She shrugs before grabbing her towel and wiping the sweat from the back of her neck. “Sure. But she’s also a redhead. That increases pretty much every capability approximately ten-fold.”

As they walk out, Rory peers into the adjacent training room to see his wife straddling Agent Barton, a blunt knife held against his throat and her head tipped back in laughter.

“I told you she was dangerous,” Natasha calls out from over her shoulder.

*

“So, when do we get to meet Thor?”

Rory doesn’t miss the snickering as the rest of the room’s occupants catch the eye-roll that he can’t hold back at hearing his wife’s words.

“Probably when that brother of his manages to escape and execute another plan for world domination,” Barton suggests drily.

From the far corner of the room, Tony coughs indignantly as he pours himself a drink. “Is the supreme intellectual and physical aptitude already present in this room not enough for you, Mrs Williams?”

“Eh,” Amy shrugs, earning a smirk from both Natasha and Clint. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re all talented at what you do, but Thor is definitely the sexy drummer of this particular rock band.” She looks at the rest of them now, as if considering her next words carefully. “Cap would be the traditionally handsome lead singer, Bruce would be the moody lead guitarist, Nat could be backing vocals and rhythm guitarist, and Clint the sexy-if-you-squint bass player.”

Tony looks across at Barton smugly, before turning back to Amy in confusion. “Wait a minute, where am I in this particular scenario?”

“You’re the shifty-looking manager slash roadie, obviously. I mean, you even have a goatee. Definitely evil.”

“He could just be the evil twin,” Rory suggests. “There might be a universe out there with a clean-shaven Tony Stark that’s nice and kind and considerate. He could probably be joint lead vocals.”

“Beards are evil?”

They all turn to Steve, and Natasha points to the pocket of his shirt. “Add _Star Trek: The Original Series_ to that list of yours, Cap.”

“Is that the one Stark was talking about the other night?”

“No, that was Star Wars,” Tony answers from behind the bar. “Very different beast. But one that should also be on your list.”

Rory watches as Steve digs out a slim notebook from his breast pocket and begins to scribble.

“But she is right,” Natasha calls out. “Goatees are evil. Statistically speaking, more of my marks have been bearded than not.”

Tony looks helplessly between the two women, before his gaze falls on the figure of Pepper Potts emerging from the lift.

“I feel like there’s an over-representation of redheads in this tower,” he says to nobody in particular.

*

**1946**

The deafening boom reverberates around the walls of the tall buildings, losing momentum by the time he pinpoints the culprit. A plume of black smoke slowly disperses from the back of the bus. _Just an engine backfiring_.

It isn’t until a voice cuts through the images that are flashing through his mind that Rory realises how tightly he is clutching his newspaper.

“Doesn’t get any easier, does it?”

He turns his head to take in the side profile of the woman who has stopped by his shoulder. _Englishwoman, judging by her accent_. She must feel his gaze on her, because she tears her own away from the smoking bus to look at him.

“You would think that after a year, you could stop jumping at _every_ loud noise.”

“It _does_ get easier,” he reassures her. Because he remembers this, remembers that the fear and the ache and the fatigue all fade eventually. “But it does take a long time.”

She seems sceptical. “Been through many wars, have you?”

Rory shrugs. “You could say that.”

It feels strange, being able to remember two thousand years of it, and he tries not to let too much information into his mind at once.

Her look of doubt turns to curiosity, and he wonders if he has said too much.

“It’s nice to hear a familiar accent,” he says instead, with a warm smile.

She regards him for a moment before echoing his expression. “Yes. It is.” Turning to him fully, she holds out her hand. “I’m Peggy.”

Her grip is firm when he slips his hand into hers. “Rory.”

“I’m helping to set up an agency,” she says quietly when she releases him. “I’m looking for people who have combat experience.”

“Plenty of those around.”

“But not always with the right personality.”

“I already have a job.”

Her smile doesn’t falter. “So, consider this a side-line.”

When he doesn’t respond, she slips her fingers into the pocket of her cream blazer. When she raises her hand and holds it in front of her face, he sees what looks like a business card poised between her fingertips.

“My address,” she explains as he takes the card from her. “Come over for dinner with me and my partner tomorrow night. Feel free to bring your wife,” she adds with a pointed look at his wedding ring.

“I don’t know –”

“Seven o’clock sharp.” She turns on her heel, and Rory watches, until her brisk strides take her out of his view.

*

Rory grabs Amy’s raised fist before she can bring it down to rap on the door. “I’m not so sure about this.”

The eye-roll is evident even when only half her head is turned towards him. “Oh, come on. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“There is _nothing_ wrong with my sense of adventure,” he says with an indignant huff. “May I remind you of where we are? We’re in New York in _1946_. My sense of adventure is perfectly tuned, thank you very much. It’s my sense of shady government agencies that is tingling. We don’t know anything about these people.”

Before she can respond, the sound of footsteps from inside the apartment catches their attention. The door opens to reveal a man whose grin peeks out from beneath his moustache.

“Is this a private conversation, or can anyone join in?”

Rory watches with interest as his wife makes no attempt to hide the fact that she is sizing up the American.

“Pretty sure my granddad had that tie,” she muses, almost to herself. Turning to Rory, she shrugs. “That’s a good start.”

A voice from inside the apartment filters through to the hallway. “Let our guests in, Howard.”

_Howard_ obliges, opening the door further and gesturing for them to enter.

“You must be the partner,” Rory comments, by way of greeting, as he brushes past.

“Howard Stark,” he replies with an outstretched hand. “And only in the business sense.”

“Stark?”

“Yes. You know the name?”

“Stark Industries,” Amy interrupts smoothly as she turns back to them, giving Rory a quick look.

“I didn’t know our reputation had crossed the Atlantic.”

“Oh, Rory and I are like to keep up with the latest technological advances. We read about your efforts during the War.”

Peggy appears in the archway that leads to the kitchen. “Glad you could make it,” she says with a wide smile. “This way.”

*

Amy has commented on more than one occasion that the ability to make small talk is one of Rory’s superhero strengths, and it doesn’t surprise him that they make it to the main course before they get down to business.

“So,” Amy says after a lull in conversation, leaving the word hanging in the air enticingly. “Would you like to tell us more about this _agency_ that you’re setting up?”

“Howard wants to call it SHIELD, as an acronym,” Peggy tells them with a teasing grin. “He just hasn’t settled on what it will stand for yet.”

“Details,” he responds with a shrug. “Yes, it will be an acronym of an appropriate phrase, but the word ‘shield’ would also be symbolic.”

He is about to continue, but the look that Amy exchanges with his husband doesn’t escape his attention.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” Rory says with a quick smile. “It’s a good idea. Symbols are important, and if you can invoke the imagery that you want just from the name, well, that’s a good thing, right?”

Amy takes up the baton. “SHIELD is a good name. A shield, to me, means protection, security, a defensive weapon. When I see a shield, I think of –“

“Captain America.”

The three of them look across at Peggy, who stares intently at her plate. “Shields remind me of Captain America,” she repeats, just as quietly.

“He did a great job,” Rory offers gently. “Sixty years from now, he’ll still be remembered for it.”

Peggy looks up to give him a soft smile. “I hope so. Sixty years from now, I hope they remember it all. It’s the only way to stop it from happening again.”

They fall into silence again, Rory stirring his food absently as he wishes that he could tell her that they _will_ remember.

“You know,” Howard muses out loud, “the two of you haven’t even asked what the aim of our agency is. What we’re hoping to achieve.”

“So, tell us.” Amy prompts.

They let Howard ramble, smiling at each other whenever his words echo those that Phil Coulson spoke in a different time – and a different life.

“So, what do you say?”

Rory and Amy exchange glances. “We can’t work for you full-time,” she says eventually. “We have plans of our own. So, we would be…consultants.”

Howard nods. “That’s acceptable.”

“Excellent. Well, as a SHIELD consultant, I have a suggestion,” Amy says with a wide grin. “You should partner up your agents – including the consultants – and call them Strike Teams.”

*

Their first mission ends more successfully than it had done in 2012, but only marginally, as Rory doesn’t hesitate to point out to his wife. She shrugs as best as she can with a new-born baby in her arms, and though they have all cleaned up since they got home, he can still picture the rubble and flames that he had pulled them away from, just in the nick of time.

“Sure you want to keep him?” he asks quietly. “Babies…they’re not just for Christmas, you know.”

She looks up, and he knows her answer well before she opens her mouth to speak. “I’m sure.”

“Thought of any names yet?”

“A couple,” she admits, and her smile quickly transforms from tender to embarrassed.

Rory groans. “We’re not naming him Thor, Amy.”

“Actually, I was thinking of Anthony. I’ve always liked the name, and we may as well nudge the Starks in the right direction.”

“But you didn’t like Tony.”

“I did like him,” she protests. “He was just a little arrogant for me, at least until I got to know him. Besides, namesakes don’t always end up alike, do they? I mean, the Mels that I grew up with was completely different to the River that we got to know.”

He’s about to point out that they weren’t exactly namesakes, more the same person at different phases of her life, when Amy says something that makes him lose his trail of thought completely.

“Anthony Brian Williams. That should be his full name.”

Well. He can’t bring himself to argue with that suggestion.

 


End file.
